The Sun Bleeds Red (upon this nation grand)
by ThatFluorideStare
Summary: 16 years ago, Oruku Saki made the choice to let Miwa burn with her father. 15, and the Shredder finds his once-brother harboring four monstrous sons- which Splinter, caught between saving his daughter and four creatures he claimed only days ago, regretfully leaves to the Shredder's mercy. It is the present, and with Shredder's capture of April O'Neil, everything begins to change.
1. the city gold

The Sun Bleeds Red (upon this nation grand)

16 years ago, Oruku Saki made the choice to let Miwa burn with her father. 15, and the Shredder finds his once-brother harboring four monstrous sons- which Splinter, caught between saving his daughter and four creatures he claimed only days ago, regretfully leaves to the Shredder's mercy.

It is the present, and with the capture of April O'Neil, everything begins to change. One rebels just to watch the earth tremble, one makes a decision that tears them in half, one is trapped in a web of lies, and one just wants to watch the world burn.

(AN: A couple things. First, if you like Oruku Saki, this is not the fic for you. In this fic, he is just about satan incarnate. As well, the turtles at the beginning of the story are all kind of awful people. They'll get better- this story is about growth, but they gotta grow outta something, and let me tell you Shredder has messed them right the hell up. Second, update schedule: there isn't one. Life and school and other things-that-are-not-cartoons exist, as much as we wish they didn't, and though I will try to update at least once a week I can promise nothing. If you've read this far: thanks for listening! Hope you enjoy the story!)

A tanto is like a mini katana- it's the thing Leo uses a few times in the show when he's lost his katanas.

Hīru- 'heel'

* * *

Winter bites at April's bare face, pricking fair skin with its icy chill. She clutches her coat closer to her body as a breeze, sharp and cold, pierces the alley, disturbing the paper scraps and other human detritus that lines it. Tall brick fortresses loom on either side of her, boxing her into the narrow alleyway. A manhole is visible at its end. She can't wait to get to Miwa- she even misses the sewer stench that had once repulsed her, because now it now smells like home, a symbol of her best friend and her father.

Something rustles a hair too long after the breeze had dissipated. An uneasy feeling wells in her stomach. Something isn't right.

She freezes. Still as a statue, she watches- waits- listens-

She moves like lightning, her tanto barely in her hand before it's tipped with red. The man behind her jerks back, a hand to his bleeding throat- a shallow wound, but one the ninja dressed in black never saw coming.

Noise rips the silence like cloth torn in two; heart pounding in her ears, April is barely fast enough to dodge the katana that is suddenly far too close to her gut. Shurikens whistle by her face- a shock of pain hits her as one grazes the skin of her jaw. There's a least two behind her then. She turns to face them- doesn't realize the man she sliced has recovered until his sai is sticking out of her shoulder.

Pain roars from the wounded joint, clouding her mind and dulling her senses. A choked-off noise of pain drags itself through her clenched teeth despite her best efforts. She's on the ground, arms wrenched behind her back and tanto kicked into the dark of the alley's corners before she could ever hope to recover.

Two figures in black are visible around the one pinning her down. One nods to the other and steps out of sight in the direction of the street. Half a minute of grinding teeth and angry (desperate) shouts to _let me go!_ s later, and suddenly all she sees is brown as a sackcloth is pulled roughly onto her head. Her hands are yanked roughly as gloved hands tie her own together. A desperate hope for Miwa flares in her chest- _please be near, please choose now to be coming above-ground, please help me_ \- but the ninjas are dragging her away, away from hope, away from her best friend, away from safety and her throat closes up at the thought. Briefly, she's almost grateful for the bag hiding her shining eyes.

Lifted- thrown- she hits a solid, cold surface. The floor shakes like- like a vehicle when something heavy rocks it. A van? That would make sense, if they're taking her somewhere. They always use vans to kidnap people in movies. She breathes deeply and smells iron and sweat mixed with blood. It's mostly her own smell, trapped in the sackcloth and left to linger. She strains to listen, and metal clinking and cloth shuffling barely reach her muffled ears. Little light reaches her, and she can see no movement, but she can tell there's a light source above and to her left. Her shoulder throbs, and her raw jaw is loudly complaining about being shoved against the rough sackcloth.

She doesn't know what's going on, but she knows this: she will not lead the Shredder to Splinter. It's the only conclusion she can come to- she was captured by ninjas with the symbol of the Foot Clan, minions to Master Splinter's betrayer and hunter, the Shredder. Somehow, they must have discovered her connection to him. As she lies there, cold, in pain, and being taken into the unknown by the minions of a man more monster than human, she makes up her mind- she would rather die than tell them where Splinter is. She can only hope it does not come to that.

Suddenly, the van stops. April lurches and rolls at the sudden braking. She hears the sound of the van doors opening and prepares herself for what is to come.

A startled _woah!_ escapes her lips anyway as she's flung over a well-muscled shoulder. What should she do? Blind and with both hands behind her back, she knows she can't possibly escape, not when guarded by actual ninjas. She may have a little training, but is by no means a real kunoichi (yet). But what else can she do? Can she honestly live with herself knowing she did nothing to fight?

She compromises by wiggling and complaining loudly. It's a token struggle, really, but at least she can show that they won't break her that easily.

Her _oomph_ of surprise cuts her off as she is dropped unceremoniously onto the cold, hard floor.

Before she can say anything else, a deep voice filled with- suppressed rage, boredom- no, that's disdain- disdain and- smugness? Triumph? Somewhere in between- echoes around what she can only assume is a large room.

"Leonardo, _hīru_." A pause. "This is your next mission. Our... _allies_ would like to make a trade- April O'Neil for a technology far more advanced than anything they've provided thus far. I have personally seen it in use, and it would be of great use to the Foot Clan. You are to take this girl and meet them at the docks at eight o'clock tonight."

A new voice- younger, and cold as a machine. "Hai, Master Shredder."

She hears nothing, but suddenly she feels the slightest twitch of the bag, as if someone had brushed it-

 _Now or never_ , April thinks as she rockets forward and headbutts her mysterious captor as hard as she can.

She feels something like armor as she ricochets off, captor entirely unharmed save for a small, surprised _ooph_. Her head hurts- but nonetheless she wriggles free of the bag just in time to see something fast and green milliseconds from giving her a black eye. Her head snaps back from the force of the impact as she cries out in pain. Doubling over, she curls in on herself as best as she can, furiously biting her lip to keep from crying out.

She peeks through her bangs to glare at her attacker. She makes eye contact with-

A turtle?

A mutant turtle, wearing a eye mask like the one Miwa wears, though this one's black. It- he?- Leonardo, she thinks- is staring at her with a look in his eye like she doesn't even exist. Her eyes dart behind him when she senses movement, sees who could only be Shredder, intimidating and sharp. And behind him, three more like Leonardo, both in species and dress, standing in a perfect row, eyes trained on her.

"...Ninja turtles?"


	2. of souls untold

The girl- a real one, like you see on the news- is stronger than Michelangelo expects. Master Shredder always said normal humans, untrained and undisciplined, were weak and fragile, but O'Neil refuses to make a sound as Leonardo kicks her repeatedly in the gut. A short cry of pain rips from her lips, muffled by her arms- well, she's trying at least. A valiant effort if he ever saw one; he is intimately acquainted with the force of that kick, and is well aware of how much it hurts- and he has a shell! He bets her squishy, unprotected torso is gonna be black and blue for a couple weeks at the least. He knows Leonardo isn't gonna go easy on her just cause she's vulnerable.

His thoughts drift to the turtle in question.

Another mission that has nothing to do with the rest of them, but Shredder has made them watch as he assigns it to Leonardo. He may not be the brightest tool in the shed, but he knows what this means. Master Shredder is pulling the whole "be more like your brother" thing again. Well, he never really stopped, but he did tone it down a little. Looks like that's over.

April screams sharply and quickly as Leonardo jabs his katana under her chin to threaten her into stillness.

Michelangelo thinks- about his brother, about his master, about himself and his role. This is nothing new. He's always been one for thinking about things he shouldn't. Thinking about all the ways he could throw a wrench in the works, the ways he could make the others pay attention to him. He could show them he worth something, show them he can do things and fight just as well as his brothers. He's a little easily distracted- everyone's got flaws. It's not fair his brothers act like his are unforgivable. Don's got a superiority complex the size of Mars. Leonardo is so obsessed with Shredder, it's probably classified as some sort of mental thing. And Raphael-

...

Well, now there's a wrench just waiting to hit the works.

April has stopped responding and her eyes are closed; she's probably unconscious. Leonardo throws her over his shoulder, bows to Shredder, and walks out.

April is something new. Michelangelo has always wanted what was new and different and strange, always wanted what he hadn't seen before, and this strange girl and the weird way the Kraang want her specifically but won't get her themselves is intoxicating. If there are two things his brothers and master hate about him more than anything else, it's his- no, that's more than two things. Three things- four? No, that one's not as bad as the others (but he could make it worse)- lets just say: one of the things people hate about him is his insatiable and undiscerning curiosity. One day, it was going to get him killed, and his brothers might just celebrate it.

Shredder finally leaves. Michelangelo thinks he might have been talking for a long while. It's a good thing he perfected his "this is my listening face" face ages ago.

His feet take him to his room by instinct as he retreats back into his thoughts. April O'Neil... he wonders if someone's taken care of that shoulder yet. Or the... everything else. Might not matter though- might be better if she dies sooner. Michelangelo may not know much about the Kraang- sensitive information and him rarely ever cross paths, and never on purpose- but he knows that the things they keep trapped would do anything to escape.

He could help her. Help this strange, strong girl get out of this dark place. She doesn't fit right here, bright colors and bared teeth scraping at the dull brick walls, rubbing raw against the oppressive aura of the Shredder. She may be injured, but he could keep the others here long enough for her to escape. It wouldn't be hard, he thinks as he sits on his bed. Wouldn't be easy, but wouldn't be hard.

Of course, he'd get punished. No chance at all of leaving the throne room with all his bones unbroken. He might even get another scar to match the first- one long, continuous mark that starts on the right side of his neck and ends just below his left eye- but that isn't anything new, and then Shredder would have to pay attention to him. He couldn't ignore him anymore, couldn't act like he's worthless; Michelangelo could prove he was just as dangerous as the others.

Save the strange bright girl, get recognition from Shredder- all in all, the perfect plan.

Now how?

First off, he'll have to go to Donatello's lab to disable the cameras. No, not disable- he needs time to bring April to the vent, and disabling it will bring Don running. Put current footage on loop? Yes! Don won't notice if he's distracted (which he always is); as long as the footage is playing, he won't notice exactly what is playing. He can figure out which cell April is in while he's there, and get the code to it. He can even disable the fan at the end of the vent.

Getting Don out of the lab will be easy; just take out a camera or panel or something, and Don'll come running to fix it. As long as he does it somewhere far from the lab, he'll have more than enough time to put his plan in place.

With all details sorted out, Michelangelo thinks it's high time he went to work.

A camera on the third floor- six below the lab- goes dark. After a spirited run/jump/flipping from rail to rail up the stairs, he arrives in an empty laboratory with all the lights left on. Someone has left in a hurry. He throws himself into the desk chair by the computer, spinning a few times with the momentum. Grabbing the desk suddenly, he yanks himself to a halt- time to get to work.

April's cell is on the tenth floor- the vent is on the second. He hopes April is prepared to run, because elevators are not an option when they're racing against The Master of All Technology Himself. A strategic array of cameras begin looping at his command. Her cell code- 227583. 227583, 227583, 227583, 227583- remember remember remember. Can't forget, don't have time. Oh! Right- he disables the fan. Almost forgot. 227583.

He leaves, not bothering to hide his tracks. If the point wasn't to get caught, he wouldn't be doing this at all.

Tenth floor, cell 1056. 227583. April is facing away from him, hands moving in front of her where he can't see them. Is she- meditating? Weird. He'll have to ask her about that later.

Will there be a later?

His finger hovers over the keyboard- broken bones and scars and one of these days Shredder will do something permanent, something that really will make him useless, and Master Shredder won't have a reason to keep him alive at all anymore- but he didn't come here because pain can stop him. He didn't come here because he's weak. 227583, and the cell door opens with a click.

April whirls around. She must not have heard him before. She's startled, but more mad than anything- sai through her shoulder- looks like it's been confiscated but the wound hasn't been looked at- and skin more black and blue than fair and she's mad that her meditation got interrupted.

A girl after his own heart.

He beckons to her with one hand, puts one finger from the other over his mouth in the universal gesture of 'shhhh'. She's wary and suspicious, hesitant- but she sees no one else around, and there is something in the silent, wary way he carries himself that says 'I'm not supposed to be doing this', and it's enough to get her out of the cell.

They walk. April tries to ask a question once, but after receiving nothing but another gesture to be quiet she doesn't try again. He's glad- if a footbot hears them now, they're dead. Well, she'll go to the Kraang, which is as good as dead, and he'll go to the Shredder, which... was his plan all along.

Well, whatever. They're nearly there anyway.

The vent is close to the ground and barely big enough for a human. He unscrews the things carefully- disguising which way they went will mean less of a chance of catching her- and gestures towards it.

April gives him this... look. She looks halfway between curious and knowing, and honestly it freaks him out a little. He gestures harder, and she takes the hint.

She crawls through the vent and out of sight.

He puts the vent back on, goes to his room and waits. He does not have long.

* * *

(Side note: Mikey is about to get hurt very, very badly. Without spoiling too much, I want to ask: do you think his wounds should be permanent? Again, without spoiling too much, I am pretty much asking if you think I should remove a limb or just beat him to hell and back. Feedback is appreciated!)

(Side side note: Thank you for the kind words! You have no idea how thrilled I am that my first story is getting this much attention!)


	3. and lie to rest the bones of men

WARNING: TORTURE SCENE. NON-GRAPHIC SUMMARY AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER.

* * *

Michelangelo was never the brightest, but Donatello had no idea he was this mind-bogglingly stupid.

Footbots throw the turtle in question to the ground, eliciting a small noise of protest from him. They bow and leave. Michelangelo glares at them as they do, as if somehow they were the source of all his imminent misery.

Idiot. Stupid moron couldn't even cover his tracks right and, naturally, blames it on anyone but himself. Typical Michelangelo. And he wondered why Shredder thought he was useless. He frees some random, gorgeous- what! Not gorgeous, that's not what he meant, he- meant- frees some random, USELESS girl. Yes, random useless girl for no good reason than his own apparent death wish! Moron!

Master Shredder stands from his throne like a leviathan ascending from the waves. His blades gleam in the low light like the eyes of a predator about to attack. He advances, menacing and ominous, towards the cowering Michelangelo. Michelangelo quickly arranges himself to be on all fours and head down in the vain hope that deference and submission can save him.

He is wrong.

There is no warning before Shredder's blades are through his shoulder, piercing flesh and muscle and bone and nerves and blood and blood and blood and blood and-

Breathe in, breathe out. Think logically. There is no logical reason to react with irrational panic. Shredder has pierced Michelangelo's right shoulder in three places; judging by the angle and lack of severe loss of- of blood, he has pierced the trapezius, avoiding the brachial plexus; the muscle bundle just below the curve of the cephalic vein (assess for nerve damage); and the clavipectoral fascia. There is a possibility of loss of use of that arm; a prosthetic limb would take three to five weeks to design and build if he uses Kraang neurotech as a base. Recovery, if possible, will take around a month. He will need more antiseptic; his current supply will be too low for comfort once he has finished cleaning the wounds-

Shredder rips his blades back out. Michelangelo screams and Donatello tries very hard to ignore it. There is more blood and Donatello can feel bile climb up the back of his throat.

Shredder watches as Michelangelo curls in on himself, instinctively protecting the wounded joint as his pained, wheezing breaths dash too fast in and out of his throat. Donatello cannot see Master Shredder's masked face, but it is not hard to imagine the disgust he likely feels at the pathetic display. His voice pierces the oppressive air like a blade through flesh.

"Leonardo." He issues no command. He does not have to. Leonardo peels out of the line-up as stoic and blank as ever, walks quickly and without hesitation to stand just behind and to the right of Shredder like the loyal dog he is. Raphael stands alone next to Donatello; the genius sees something far too close to anticipation on his face and discomfort settles heavy in his gut.

Silence, save for Michelangelo's fading wheezing.

"Breaks his fingers."

The command is sudden and far too calm. Leonardo's obedience is much the same as he takes the wide-eyed and thrashing Michelangelo's hand- the right (wounded) one- and-

The scream echoes so much louder than the snap but Donatello can't get snap-crunch-grind of bone on bone out of his head, can't get the image of Leonardo twisting the broken digit out and all he can taste is bile, see is blood, hear is the snap-crunch-grind of broken bone and he thinks he's going to be sick.

The next finger. The thumb. Michelangelo's eyes are shiny and wide and moisture is starting to leak from their corners and he's not sure if he's proud of him for lasting this long or disappointed that he broke at all. After all, he's had plenty of practice. Leonardo goes for the other hand and Michelangelo is kicking wildly but Shredder stomps on an offending foot and with a sickening crunch, that's the end of that. Leonardo rips the unwounded hand from Michelangelo's protective cradle against his chest while he's distracted (screamingscreamingscreaming). Snap. Crunch. Crack. Why won't he stop screaming. Leonardo finally moves away, and so does Michelangelo. Tears stream down his face as he desperately uses his remaining functional limb to push his body away, curled in on his hands and knee pulled to his chest.

"Disgusting," Raphael mutters. It jerks Donatello from his trance like being pulled out of freezing water suddenly. He turns and sees hate on the scarred, green face of his brother, sees rage and disgust for the pitiful creature before them.

"His arms," says Shredder, with just the barest hint of glee, and Michelangelo warbles out something soggy and indistinguishable as his kicking becomes more frantic. It is futile. Leonardo pounces, and Michelangelo sounds like a prey animal being eaten alive as Leonardo takes Michelangelo's arm and slams it over his knee. Once, twice, and on the third bone tears free from flesh and Donatello closes his eyes and thinks of diagrams and numbers and clinical, safe things and not the bile he has to work to swallow down. By the other arm, Michelangelo has finally stopped screaming. In fact, he has stopped moving entirely.

Donatello feels like thanking any higher powers that may or may not exist for his brothers blessed unconsciousness.

Shredder turns his terrible gaze on him and his joints snap into place on instinct, tall and firm and unresponsive. Back into place like a toy that comes alive only when its owner has left the room. His face falls flat despite the racing of his traitorous heart.

"Donatello. I expect your brother to be awake by morning; if he is not, he is no longer of any use to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes Master Shredder." The ingrained response is beyond his lips even before he has the chance to process the decry. The metal beast turns and leaves, and Donatello is so, so grateful.

Michelangelo needs medical attention NOW- that is his first priority. He will deal with the Shredder's order later, when his hands have stopped shaking and his brothers' eyes aren't drilling holes through the back of his eye sockets. Calloused hands carefully lift the battered torso; bridal style, he decides, will allow him to keep the arms from jostling, so that is how he carries his brother to the lab.

He does not allow himself to think on the way to his lab about anything besides what treatments he will use and how long they will take and what supplies he will need. He moves on autopilot, cleaning and dressing wounds and equipping splints and casts where needed. Michelangelo is a mess- but not one he can't fix. A careful examination of the wounds in his shoulder reveal that, although only time will tell how much motion and feeling Michelangelo will regain, it will heal, at least for the most part. The broken bones are clean breaks, although he has to deal with tissue damage from Leonardo twist- twisting them, ugh don't think about it don't think about it. The ankle is another matter. It's crushed- it's going to take nothing less than surgery to give it even a hope of recovery.

Tonight is going to be a long night.

* * *

It is 3:48 AM. Michelangelo lies half conscious on the table where Donatello reconstructed an ankle so mangled on the inside, one could barely call it an ankle at all. It is a miracle Michelangelo is awake at all, even with the copious amounts of adrenaline-inducing drugs in his system.

It is 3:49 AM, and half conscious or not, it is time to go.

Donatello gently gets his arm beneath his brother's, trying not to jostle bones as he supports him. Up they go, and Michelangelo is leaning almost entirely on Donatello, but that's okay, because he could be dead or worse by now and honestly he might be yet.

This is a bad idea. It also might keep him and possibly the only person who has ever been anything close to kind to him alive, and maybe it's not the most logical course- but neither was breaking all of Michelangelo's fingers over one human girl. Neither is disposing of him because he's not functional by some arbitrary point in time.

They're going to stumble out of there alive if it's the last thing they do, because it very well might be. Donatello has put all cameras on loop and disarmed all alarms, and he is the only one who monitors either; this does not guarantee success.

It is a long, terrifying trip to one of the back entrances to the building. Donatello inputs the password with a shaking finger, and even as he half-drags his vulnerable brother into what he is almost tempted to call freedom. Terror sinks its teeth bone deep into him as they limp their way to the shadows. There is a manhole less than a block away, but even that feels like miles to Donatello, far too long spent in the shadow of Shredder's lair.

Donatello feels like crying when his feet finally hit sewer cement. He helps his brother down with a grimace halfway between terror and ecstasy because in the dark mazes of the New York sewers, Shredder will never be able to find them; after all, he has been searching for Hamato Yoshi down here for fifteen years and still not found them. And yet he can't shake the fear, the feeling that they're going to turn a corner and he'll be there, waiting with blind rage in his eyes and hate in his heart and blood on his hands.

But he isn't waiting around the corner- or the next, or the next, or the next, and slowly Donatello's racing heart slows down.

So does Michelangelo's. Adrenaline inducing drugs worn off, Donatello is mostly dragging/carrying his brother by this point.

They turn another corner. A dead end; all there is is a waterfall of sewage endlessly spilling into the large, vertical tunnel. Others pour their load here as well, forming a rancid pit of sewage at the bottom that he cannot tell the depth of. They turn to go back the way they came-

An echo out of place. Donatello freezes, his unresponsive brother doing little to break the silence. A voice- it sounds like-

Oh no.

Leonardo is here.

Panic grabs Donatello's mind in its hideous clawed fist and squeezes, and all he can feel is unrelenting, irrational fear. His brother falls from his grasp, makes no sound as he lands hard on the floor and Donatello doesn't notice that he's falling falling falling until water is filling his lungs and all he can see is distorted, mottled colors through the raging, violent waters and darker darker darker grows the light. Consciousness slips from his fingers like water and the last thing he sees is the dark.

* * *

AN: Don't worry guys, Donnie's gonna be fine ;) And by unanimous vote on both and , Mikey gets to keep all his limbs! I actually was planning on just really messing up his right arm, with none of this other stuff, but uh... whoops! Not how the story wanted to be written I guess.

NON-GRAPHIC SUMMARY: Shredder tells Leo to break Michelangelo's fingers and arms; Shredder himself breaks his ankle. Donatello is told to take care of him and that if Mikey isn't awake by morning, he is to dispose of him. Donnie nearly has a panic attack like twice, and actually has one like once, and in general does not have a fun time, but does manage to make it out of Shredder's lair alive and into the sewers. Eventually, Donnie hears Leo's voice- and promptly has a panic attack. He falls into the sewer pool far below, to meet a fate unknown.


End file.
